Ramona Young, an actress with Opera Del Espacio, applies makeup in the green room of the Bootleg Theater. Although the arm wrestling is real, the entrances are meant to be highly, almost absurdly, theatrical. Photo: Sol Neelman/Wired

LA LAW is all about the spectacle, a point made abundantly clear as emcees Bruce Thinment (aka Michael Dunn) and Lottë Bootay (aka Laura Oppelt) introduce the competitors and their entourages. Photo: Sol Neelman/Wired

N00bs never know what to expect from Weird Sports, but even I didn't expect bloody bondage. Photo: Sol Neelman/Wired

The Velvet Hammer celebrates her victory over the Barberess of Seville. Yes, this sport is just as weird as the athletes' names suggest. Photo: Sol Neelman/Wired

For all the spectacle, the arm wrestling is real, and Madame Murder was determined to put The Velvet Hammer in her place. Photo: Sol Neelman

LOS ANGELES — Hollywood might be the only place in the world where you can see a chain-smoking redneck mamma deliver a baby on stage during an arm wrestling tournament.

This wasn’t just any arm wrestling tournament, though. It was LA LAW, the catchy, if copyright-challenging, acronym for Los Angeles Ladies Arm Wrestling. This being a city where every third person is either an aspiring actor or struggling screenwriter, all of the competitors are actresses and dancers.

And that’s what makes it so damn weird. Imagine Lucha Libre or the WWE with performance artists and you have an idea of the insanity. The difference, though, is this wresting is real.

“We’re trying to expand for people what theater can be,” said Howie Cohen, a local actor (of course) who says attending LA LAW is as rewarding as going to a hockey game.

A woman by the name of Jennifer Tidwell launched the Collective of Lady Arm Wrestlers four years ago as an offshoot of the roller derby scene in Charlottesville, Virginia. As these pioneers left Virgina, they took the spirit of the sport with them. They founded leagues in other cities, including NYC, Chicago, Austin, and L.A. CLAW just went global with leagues popping up in Australia and Brazil.

“Each city has a different character and it depends on the ethos around it,” said Amanda McRaven, who is a theater director and college professor when she isn’t calling the shots at LA LAW. “We tend to be one of the more theatrical leagues.”

No kidding. The night I was there, the outrageous entourages accompanying each “competitor” included blooded men in bondage, the walking dead and arrogant hairy hipsters. And the newborn baby, which, thankfully, wasn’t real.

“It’s as much art as it is sport,” said McRaven. “And I love how good everyone feels.”

Supervising this event — or, rather, attempting to ensure no one broke an arm — was Lori Cole, a 12-time arm wrestling world champ who has collected 150 state and national titles in 22 years. Yep, she’s an OG.

Just to make it clear, the arm wrestling is real. The competitors take it seriously, because everyone is wrestling for charity. The prize money is donated, and the crowd buys “CLAW bucks” that can be applied to stunts, shots and snacks. You can even pay for something called a “boob sandwich” served up by Lauren Oppelt aka “Lottë Bootay.” We’ll just leave it at that and let your imagination run wild.

LA LAW is just starting out, having just held its second performance last month. The plan is to get together every four months, which means the next bout is slated for Valentine’s Day with proceeds going to V-Day, an organization committed to ending violence against women and girls. That said, CLAW events are held all over the place; Chicago is hosting a bout Saturday.